


Degrees of Freedom

by Champollion



Category: Historical RPF, Political RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Horror, M/M, Political Alliances, Political Campaigns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champollion/pseuds/Champollion
Summary: The Paris mayoral elections are over and Cedric Villani has fucked things up. Benjamin Griveaux is not the only man having a particularlyhardtime. With a Trump 2020, does Macron still stand afirmchance in his own second term? Meanwhile, something very strange is going on down at Les Invalides and a genius scientist contemplates the meaning of life. It’s going to be a hot summer – and not just because of the Gilets Jaunes.
Relationships: Emmanuel Macron/Cedric Villani, Emmanuel Macron/Donald Trump, Implied Cedric Villani/Michel Djerzinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Degrees of Freedom

Emmanuel Macron sat in the Haussmann office. Beneath the window, Gilets Jaunes screamed and protested. He wasn’t sure how they found out that he used the building, but there they were, the balcony scene of his presidency; where instead of Romeo, an enraged Republic awaited. 

He turned to the man in the seat before him. “You split the vote,” he said simply. “For a mathematician, you should have been more calculating.”

Villani scarcely moved. Macron was unsure how to proceed. It was difficult when one could play the game equally well, but he had hoped to make use of the man’s awkwardness. 

“At the same time, I like your policies. I liked your report. We need to attract more scientists to Paris-“

“Griveaux was always the wrong candidate-”

“Yes, yes. But it was all too complicated. You live in another century. People are stupid; you have to appeal to their basic-” He noticed that Villani was distracted by the protest. “I’m not even sure what they’re protesting anymore,” he shrugged. He looked to the window briefly, but without turning his head so much that they would see him. “Anyway, the point is, I want you on board.” He tried to look conciliating. 

The truth was that he envied Villani. Villani was awkward in a way that women liked; it was not slimy. He had been to the Ecole Normale, which Macron had tried to enter twice and was twice refused (thus he went to Nanterre and wrote a sub-par dissertation on Machiavelli). Villani was the man that he could have been, had he cared as much. The man with a love for something true - even transcendental - despite this new interest in a political career…

“Pavlenski has dirt on you,” Villani said suddenly, startling him. 

“It’s impossible,” Macron laughed. 

“Would you like to see it?”

“This isn’t America.”

“Are you sure of that?” Villani smiled nervously, “You know the times.” He held up his phone. 

Macron crawled over the carpet, having to keep beneath window-height. 

“It’s a cock.” He exhaled, frowning at it. “That’s all it is, a cock. Not my cock.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“I’m told that more can be proven. You’re turning red-”

“What is this - porn on first principles? It’s hot. I’d open a window, if not for-”

Villani nodded sympathetically. “Can you be certain that it’s not yours? Because it’s going to end up on that website and unless we look into the matter it’s you and the Institut Henri Poincare that are, to be put it crudely, fucked.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I got the picture through Michel Djerzinski.” 

“And who is that, exactly?”

“A researcher at the Institute. I don’t think he’s got anything to do with it, but it’s a long story and I don’t know how much Pavlenski actually knows.” 

“And how is this…Djerzinski,” he stumbled over the name, “involved? Is he Russian?”

“No, no.” Villani looked uncomfortable, then continued, “He has a brother, a frequenter of sex clubs. Does it surprise you to learn Pavlenski also goes to such clubs? Well, the brother ended up saying something and Pavlenski got wind. Next thing I know, Michel – Djerzinski, that is – is sending me a photo of your cock.” 

“You’re not making any sense.” 

“This whole thing makes no sense.” 

“Why am I president in an age when it’s too complicated to remove his citizenship and put him on an island somewhere?” 

His secretary entered the room.

“You’re in window view!” Macron snapped from the floor.

“You’ve a message from President Trump,” she ignored him. “There’s going to be a Coronavirus Conference. Details to follow. And Trump is coming through on Zoom now.”

“I’m not ready.” 

“President Trump is ready.” She handed him a laptop. 

“Hello,” the laptop drawled. “I’d ask how my favourite President is, but you know you’re doing great when they hate you.”

Macron straightened his tie, fumbling. 

“And you’re looking perfect, might I add. A little uptight. Might want to loosen that, just a little -” Trumps voiced pinched as he made a pinching gesture. 

Villani didn’t need to see the screen to see the gesture. Macron shot a glance at him.

Then a message pinged through to Villani’s phone. 

_Djerzinski attempted suicide. Come quick. Might have something to do with En Marche. Details unclear._

A second message arrived with an address. 

“Emergency,” he mouthed to Macron and turned around and out of the room.


End file.
